


Got My Girls

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Infidelity, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "Five times Amy had a sneaky lesbian affair, and one time her boys caught her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zoe

**Author's Note:**

> The numbers accompanying the chapters indicate chronological order.
> 
> Has a happy ending because I love these characters.

2.

When the two TARDISes had merged, it was just so easy. Amy's doctor was drooling over their shared passions for bowties, silly hats, Scottish companions, and the TARDIS with the old doctor. Jamie had grabbed Rory and started monopolizing the first person he had met in quite some time who had lived through 17th century Britain. That left Amy with the petite young woman in a tight, shiny catsuit. She met Zoe's bright eyes with a mischievous grin. “So,” she says at last, “want to have some fun?” 

“Thought you'd never ask,” Zoe replies, grabbing her hand and leading her through the TARDIS.

“Really?” Amy crinkles her nose. “I did introduce Rory as my husband, didn't I?”

“I just assumed the two of you agreed to be emotionally faithful but physically open-minded, much like the Doctor and Jamie, and much like people from my own time as well.”

“Wait, are the three of you?..”

“Sometimes.” Zoe cocks her head to one side. “Aren't the two of you with your Doctor?”

“Well, yes...” Amy blushes. “Why am I telling you all this?”

Zoe shrugs. “I'm one of the Doctor's friends, and so are you. So we trust each other. I suspect that no matter how long he lives, that will be a small fraternity. And it must be nice to have another woman you can trust.”

“I suppose it is,” Amy decides. Their travels had brought them to a small kitchen. “Will the table do?”

“I think so,” Zoe agrees, shrugging out of her catsuit with a delightful shimmy of her hips. 

“You're gorgeous,” Amy tells her.

“You are also extremely pretty,” Zoe says, and she kneels, pulling Amy's knickers and tights to the floor with her. “You know, I once blew up a computer with my mouth.” She smiles, pixie-like. “Shall we see what other powers it has?” And seconds later Amy is moaning Zoe's name like the prayer of the desperate. Two fingers are scissoring inside of her as Zoe's mouth applies delicate suction to Amy's clit. 

Amy tries and fails to muffle her screams. Breathing deeply, she pulls Zoe up onto the table. “My turn for a snack,” she says, casting her eyes about the kitchen. No fudge sauce, no honey, no whipped cream. Butterscotch'll do in a pinch, she reckons, and pours from the jar all over Zoe. It beads on her nipples, pools in her navel and the hollow of her throat, clings like thick, sticky dew to the small hairs of her arms, fills the crevices and folds of her elbows and knees, and anoints her forehead. “I think you'll do nicely,” Amy says, voice throaty, and draws her tongue up the smooth skin of Zoe's left instep. It is the first of many moans that she tears from the girl.


	2. Tallulah

6.

Her editor has sent her to do a human-interest story on a circus love affair that had ended in tragedy when the Pig Man had passed away, leaving behind a beautiful, grieving widow, one of the tightrope walkers who also sang and danced. “And how do you spell that?” Amelia Williams asks. 

“Three L's and an H,” Tallulah tells her, and blows her nose in a gesture that a less-perceptive woman would have thought overblown. Amelia spends the next few hours both consoling the young widow and gently pumping her for information, aiding both enterprises with a bottle or two of wine. Rory is at work, and Amelia likes to conduct interviews in her home office when she can. Office is really the wrong word; the writing desk with its gleaming typewriter was the only nod to functionality in the cozy room. Otherwise the soft chairs, loveseat, side table, and liquor cabinet wouldn't have looked amiss in their drawing room. 

She has more than enough for the feature she has planned when Tallulah, sobbing, drops her wineglass. The red liquid splashes up and all over the young woman, drenching her dress. “Come on,” Amelia says at once, “Best get that off before it stains. You can borrow some of my things till you get home.” She stills Tallulah's protests with a fingertip to her lips. “Trust me, I can write the dry cleaning off as a business expense.”

“If you're sure, then?..”

“Are you sure?” Amelia asks in reply, fingers just grasping the zip of Tallulah's dress, face so very close to the other woman's. There is barely room for her to nod, but nod she does. Amelia has her out of the dress and her stockings and undergarments, and tosses the clothes in the basin of the sink to soak, turning on both taps. “You're beautiful,” Amelia whispers as Tallulah sags back onto the sofa. 

“Thanks,” she replies, and giggles. The laughter gets deeper and louder as Amelia removes the last traces of wine from Tallulah's skin. “Tickles!” she manages.

“Good tickles, I hope,” Amelia tuts as she dips lower. Tallulah must keep herself neatly trimmed for the leotards she wears on the trapeze, she muses. A good reporter always checks out her sources, she thinks to herself. Not always quite like this, of course. She grins as Tallulah comes, and climbs up to sit next to her on the sofa.

“I've never...with a woman,” Tallulah says.

Amelia kisses her and lets her taste herself. “Always a first time for everything,” she says, and Tallulah blushes. But she helps the older woman out of her clothes, and makes her scream with delight, and talks about a juggler girl she's always wondered about. Amelia laughs, and they open another bottle as they pore through her wardrobe.


	3. Deirdre

3.

It had seemed so innocuous when the Doctor had told her and Rory to wander around Victorian London by themselves. I've seen the place so many times, he'd said. Want to let you take in the sights for yourselves, he'd said. I'd probably run into eight other me's, he'd said. Got a hankering for reminiscing with Vastra and Jenny about this and that, he'd said. 

But now she was lying flat on her back, strapped to a table, fighting with an alien entity for control of her body. She had to give Rory credit: the medical demonstration he'd wanted to see had been fascinating. Up until the moment when a trans-dimensional being had decided she was the perfect host body.

To be fair, she thought with a smirk, she was the perfect host body. 

Rory had run off to fetch the Doctor, hopefully before Victorian medical science took its toll. “Hullo!” Amy craned her neck to look at a petite, red-haired girl standing at the foot of the examining table. “The Doctor says you've got hysteria, and that I should give you the usual cure.”

“The Doctor said what? He should bloody well know better than—” Amy stopped, realizing the girl just meant some random local medical man.

“Oh, no, miss. She.” Deirdre corrected her as she pulled Amy's complicated undergarments to her ankles with the practiced ease of a native. “I've only just met her, but she wants me to come traveling with her.” Deirdre beamed. “She's so very strange, but I think I just might.”

Amy screamed; the whatever-it-was was fighting back. “You really should. Sure the Doctor was a she? Not a tall, dorky fellow with rubbish fashion sense or, well, a short, dorky fellow with rubbish fashion sense.”

“Oh, no, miss. My Doctor's a beautiful woman with noble dress.” She smiled beatifically. 

Well, she knew he could change. Amy shrugged as much as she could from the table. “But please, miss, she said it was to be administered as soon as possible, and that it would cure you.” She switched on a weirdly-familiar-looking device which began to thrum. Amy's eyes bulged as the history of the vibrator started to come back to her from her gender-studies minor. Well, the girl was quite a sight (sudden wetness purely coincidental), and if it was purely medical...

“Go ahead, then,” she said, blushing. “Doctor's orders.” Oh, fuck, she thought, the girl was good. Her limbs strained against the leather straps and she suddenly felt very warm despite the poor heating of the building. Fuck, fuck, fuck, tongue definitely not a medical instrument. Amy laughed and pictured the table back out in the auditorium, imagined herself under the penetrating, note-taking eyes of a hundred young doctors, male and female, waiting to take their turn with the specimen. She shouted and swore and did eight other unladylike things, and had a roaring great orgasm, right there on the table.

Amy exhaled and felt the trans-dimensional whatchamacallit leave her body. Something about the hormones and the positive emotional energy or something. She smirked. She could totally handle this saving the world business. “You going to let me up, then?”

Deirdre flushed. “Sorry miss, but the Doctor said to repeat the treatment at least once, just to make sure it held.”

“God bless the NHS,” Amy whispered as the primitive vibrator started up again.


	4. Amy

The TARDIS had been acting up again and now there were two Amys and Rory was stuck in a time loop. She couldn't remember what the Doctor had said had gone wrong this time. First off, she was pretty sure he had no idea. Secondly, it didn't make any difference to her (either of her). Third, River said something else entirely, and now the two of them were flirting/fighting/fixing the TARDIS. (It was so hard to tell which was which, but it was nauseating to watch regardless.) She sighed and left to be alone with herself, as her future self knew she would.

“Does it really count as cheating if the other woman is also me?” future-Amy mused as past-Amy planted a tender kiss on the underside of her knee. “I mean, I don't feel guilty when I go on a date with our vibe. And I certainly don't mind if he has a good wank from time to time. Mm, fuck.” Future-Amy arched her back up into her past self's tongue. “You're going to enjoy that in an hour.”


	5. The Doctor

5.

Amy ducked away from the Sontaran patrol and back into the TARDIS. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded of the strange woman waiting by the console.

“I suppose you wouldn't recognize your Raggedy Doctor after all these years, all these changes.” She smiled sadly and thrust her hands into the pockets of her dress. “So few of these little moments when I know you'll be alone. Moments where I can steal in, like a phantom on the breeze,” she continued, gliding towards Amy. 

“You really are—were him—her—you,” Amy breathed. “From the future.” Still-disbelieving fingers ghosted over faintly Asiatic features. 

“Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. What was it River used to say? Spoilers...” She grinned. “Don't worry, I'm still the same old me. Still saving galaxies, still sweeping talented young women off their feet—Deirdre's spending some time with her siblings at the moment, still stealing clothes from hospitals.” She twirled, showing off dress and body alike. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Amy pulled the Doctor in for a kiss, “it looks better in a heap on the floor.”

“I say we test that hypothesis,” the Doctor agreed, producing the sonic and buzzing it merrily along Amy's collarbone.

The dress may have been slightly frumpy, but the lingerie underneath was anything but. The intricate assemblage of straps and buckles managed to support (but not conceal) the Doctor's fine breasts, hold up a pair of dark stockings, and keep a gleaming steel dildo firmly in place using a minimum of fabric. “Hello, good-looking,” Amy proclaimed. 

“Not too bad yourself,” the Doctor replied, leaving Amy's jumper to join her dress on the floor and unhooking her bra. 

“Going to fuck me over the console for old times' sake?” Amy asked, stepping out of her knickers.

“Thought you'd never ask.” Amy looked over her bare shoulder as she braced herself on the console, spreading her cowboy-booted feet. The Doctor gleefully accepted her invitation, pulling on Amy's hair to expose her throat. She kissed it ravenously, savoring the gasp when the cold metal of the dildo first brushed her warm skin. “Mmm, I miss the way Rory and I used to pass you back and forth, taking turns filling your holes until you could barely speak.” She slid the dildo in with a long, easy thrust, as though the old Doctor's muscle memory had survived the regeneration. 

“Oh, fuck,” Amy cried as the Doctor ripped the screams of an orgasm from her with the sonic, its pulses applied directly to her clit only to resonate off of the steel dildo and ripple up into her soul. “Please, Doctor, need to feel your hands. Touch me, touch me all over.”

“I think I can manage that.” The Doctor's breath hot on her shoulder; the Doctor's hands cool on her breasts, cupping them, thumbs rubbing over her nipples. The silk of the lingerie slid over the flesh of her back.

“Yes, Doctor, please, love it when you fill me, fuck me like this.” Amy wasn't over-fond of pleading, but she was also the first in line to argue exceptions to the rule. When it pleased her. And she was definitely pleased.


	6. Clara

1.

She and Rory haven't been traveling with the Doctor for very long, but Amy still reckons she can spot his companions with some skill (the fact that they tend to gorgeous, athletic, and female tips things rather heavily in her favor). She's had time to get over the jealousy, having met River early on. It had stung a bit, but she was a grown woman, and she could hardly expect a centuries-old alien to only have one best friend. Even she had had Mels and Rory growing up, and now Rory and the Doctor.

Ergo, the lust she felt for the cute brunette in the wine-red one-piece wasn't emotionally complicated, even when she revealed that she was traveling with a later version of the Doctor. And judging by the hungry look Clara was giving her legs, she wasn't having any qualms, either.

They flirt their way up the beach; Clara says she knows a more secluded spot, one the Doctor had pointed out to her on the way.

“He didn't have any clue as to why I might be interested in this,” she confirms. “Damn shame, seeing as he's a right looker.”

“Well, that's his loss,” Amy retorts, placing Clara's hands on the ties of her bikini top as she bends to kiss the shorter woman. The fabric falls onto the blanket they've spread out, and Clara attacks her breasts, now bare and at eye-level, with gusto. “God, I have to get you to show Rory that thing with your tongue.”

“Girlfriend?” Clara asks, stopping with one arm half out of her suit.

“Husband, actually.”

“Won't he mind?” 

“What he doesn't know won't hurt him,” Amy insists, brushing the other strap off of Clara's shoulder. 

Clara flicks her eyes around the clearing, and two clumps of bushes move suspiciously. “Who's there?” she calls as Amy grabs a piece of driftwood, brandishing it like a claymore over her head. Clara goes a little watery in the knees and wants to beg for the privilege to eat her out. 

“Best do as she says, Rory,” a small voice familiar to both of them says at last. Rory and both Doctors straighten up out of the foliage, looking rather sheepish. 

“So much for catching her,” Rory mutters, fists in the pockets of his trunks. “Or watching her.” 

“You voyeuristic perverts,” Amy says, mostly admiringly. 

“And here I thought you might not have any sex drive at all this go-round,” Clara remarks upon seeing the bulge in her Doctor's tight swim shorts.

“So, what was the big idea?” Amy asks. 

“I wanted to see if I minded. Watching. You.” Rory looks at her, flummoxed, finally pointing towards his own erection. “Turns out I don't.” He shrugs. “I know you always talked about being with another woman, and I can't really give that to you.” 

“Well, actually,” Amy's Doctor interjects, but Rory just holds up a hand to quiet him.

“So this is me giving you permission. Insofar as that's a thing I can do. As long as you tell me about it.” 

“What he doesn't know might not hurt him,” so they had heard, Amy thinks, and flushes to match her hair, “but what he does might help both of you.”

“All three of us?” Amy says hopefully, looking meaningfully at the Doctor, who acquires his own blush to match. Rory just shrugs. 

“As for right now,” the Doctor says, “we agree that you need to be punished, Pond.”

“I could stand a bit of punishment,” Clara proffers pointedly to her Doctor, who hardly needs convincing as the three gentlemen close in on their girls.


End file.
